


afraid of changing

by Laingley



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Established Relationship, Fleetwood Mac References, Fleetwood Mac but make it Star Wars, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi, Pining, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, anakin as lindsey buckingham, and not just anakin, don't do spice kids, obi-wan as stevie nicks, obi-wan likes pretty things ok, this is so wildly self-indulgent gosh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28249158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laingley/pseuds/Laingley
Summary: There are moments in every musician's life where a single instant can change everything.The Force are in shambles - their lead guitarist just walked, the rest of the band are threatening to leave, and they've lost all sense of artistic direction. To shake things up, drummer Qui-Gon Jinn brings in a new guitarist, the talented Anakin Skywalker, to join the band. Except Anakin has one request - his lover, Obi-Wan Kenobi, has to join too. A band full of dizzying affairs, explosive fights and a unique history with spice seems tumultous enough, but as romances fall apart and The Force spiral to new heights, will music be enough to hold them together?
Relationships: Asajj Ventress/Quinlan Vos, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. trust your first initial feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!!! watch this end up being like 49430325369 works bc I fall in love with everyone

_coruscant, 1973_

“Anakin, we need to get going!” Obi-Wan called, throwing open a small suitcase already stuffed with clothes. He scanned the pile - a few velvet blazers, denim jackets, some loose, buttondown shirts, and on him now, a plunging white satin blouse he’d bought for himself just for the occasion. Avoiding the pricetag in his gaze (it still made him wince), he flung the suitcase shut and zipped it up. 

“For God’s sake, Anakin, we need to leave _now_.” 

With a groan, Anakin emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, his hair still dripping wet and a threadbare towel hanging low on his hips. Taking in Obi-Wan’s flustered expression and crinkled shirt, he grinned lopsidedly and raked his hands through his hair. 

“You better have packed my clothes for me, you know,” smirked Anakin, now pulling on a pair of jeans and a barely-done up shirt. “How do I look?”

“Stunning as always, Anakin, but we really must get going.”

“Is that all I’m gonna get from you?” Anakin pouted. “You know you love me.”

Obi-Wan smiled warmly. “Of course I do, Dear One, but now is not the time for-”

He found himself cut off by the feel of Anakin’s lips on his, a soft noise of approval in the back of his throat. 

Obi-Wan pushed him away, barely containing a laugh. “Anakin, as much as I want you right now” - Anakin smirked at this - “right before an album photoshoot we’re undoubtedly going to be late to now is _hardly_ the time for this!”

Anakin sprinted to the door (hardly an effort for an apartment that size) and hurled it open, leaving Obi-Wan to fuss with the suitcase and huff down the steps. 

“Would you like a hand with that suitcase, old man? Seems it was a bit of an effort for you, I hope you’re not getting too old on me now.”

Obi-Wan sighed, quickly walking to the taxi waiting for them on the street. “I’m hardly an old man, Anakin, I’ve barely got two years on you!”

“You sound so gorgeous when you’re mad, you know that?” Anakin was riling him up now; that was obvious.

“It’s the Coruscanti lilt, darling. You, my dear, weren’t blessed enough to get it.” With a wink, he heaved the suitcase into the taxi and jumped into the front seat, grinning at a sulking Anakin in the rear view mirror. 

~

“Is this all the clothes you have?” asked the stylist - Deborah, was that her name? - who was now glaring at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan’s mullet was getting attacked by a rather sharp comb at this point in time. “I’d imagine you’d be able to find something suitable for us in there, I’m personally quite fond of the velvet- _ahh_!” he winced, victim to a particularly sharp prod of the hair instrument. 

Possibly-Deborah rolled her eyes. “Your friend’s fine, but the photographer wants a little more from you. Actually, make that _less_.”

The hairstylist finally done, Obi-Wan whirled around to Most-Likely-Deborah. With huge feathers hanging from her ears and a shoddily tie-dyed pair of pants, she hardly looked like someone he’d entrust with his personal style. Worst of all, her pants were _skinny._ Skinny! Where was the delicate curve of the flares, the floor skimming magic?

She considered him for a second, before turning to the hairstylist. “Can you take off his shirt?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, before he grabbed the hem of his satin blouse. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Deborah, you see I bought this top for this occasion, and” - it was already clearing his shoulders - “I don’t exactly feel comfortable doing such a thing for an _album cover_ of all things” - now over his head - “and, you see, I’m very self-conscious,” he finished lamely, staring blankly at the top now lying on the floor. He sighed. “That was a nightmare to iron, you know.”

Definitely-Deborah looked him up and down, before taking a step towards him and grinning toothily. “Babes, this is _exactly_ what we need for this shoot. You’re _gorgeous_.” She ran a finger down the front of his chest, eyeing the spattering of freckles and definition down to his hipbones.

Obi-Wan politely looked away, catching his eye in the reflection; he couldn’t deny they had certainly done _something_ with him. His ginger mullet had been teased and styled into soft waves, and his open, clean-shaven face had been carved out with a touch of shimmer and thick mascara. 

It was nothing compared to how Anakin looked. 

He caught Anakin’s reflection in the mirror and just about _gasped_. His hair had been blown out to a gorgeous tousle, almost falling into his eyes, and his torso had been misted with some kind of spray? Obi-Wan wondered, which highlighted every cut and curve. A hint of eyeliner rimmed his eyes, his brows were defined to perfection, and his lips were a delicious sheen. At the sight of Obi-Wan, a red rash began to race down Anakin’s face to his chest and beyond. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder exactly how far that flush went, before he collected himself and embraced Anakin warmly. 

“Dear One, you look beautiful,” Obi-Wan whispered. Anakin grinned into Obi-Wan’s neck, about to press a kiss to the tender skin until the makeup artist howled some infernal complaint about how long it took to _cover up those hickeys!_

“Oh dear,” Anakin mumbled.

Finally, the photographer walked into the room, kicking off leather shoes in favour of the burnt orange carpet. He had an unusually large forehead with eyebrows set so he looked perpetually surprised - _perhaps it was some new cosmetic injectable from the Outer Rim,_ Obi-Wan wondered.

“Skynobi, is it? Awful name for a duo, but it’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Obi-Wan and Anakin looked at each other and snorted. “I’m Ki-Adi Mundi, but Kiki is more than fine,” he said, his voice startlingly tranquil. If there was an embodiment of _zen_ , this man was it. “I’m here for your photoshoot. My album cover is going to send you two to the Outer Rim and beyond!”

Anakin leant over to Obi-Wan. “One spice hit too many?” 

“Quiet, you,” Obi-Wan chastised, stifling a laugh.

Ki-Adi Mundi, or _Kiki_ as he had insisted, had sat them down in front of a black wall and had them embrace each other in various positions. First, it was Obi-Wan on Anakin’s shoulder, then it was Anakin whispering in Obi-Wan’s ear, then before they knew it they were facing each other nose to nose.

“Anakin, turn your head a little to the left and look at Obi-Wan’s- yes, that’s it, Obi-Wan, you do the same but look into his eyes, exactly, perfect.” The strange man was muttering all over the place to make matters even worse.

Finally sensing a chance to talk to Anakin, Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin, do I really have to have my shirt off? This is not what I signed up for-”

“Obi-Wan, this is art. Do it for the art, alright? Trust me, I’d rather not do this either.”

“Sex sells, I suppose,” Obi-Wan muttered dryly. 

Kiki’s eyes flashed suddenly. “Anakin, can you bite your lip like you did just then? And move your hands so you’re almost dipping Obi-Wan, yes, that’s it.”  
  


“Sir,” Obi-Wan mumbled, “you do realise we’re on the floor, right?”  
  


“Kiki. But yes, it’s all a part of the shot, we want to show a real power dynamic between you two, and real submission for you, like you give it all over for the music. Almost melancholy. Innocent.”  
  


“So you want me to look _what_ ?”  
  


Kiki’s face fell dramatically, almost comically. “What about the droid attacks that have been happening? Are those making you sad? I want you to pull it from something deep within you, and make it yours.”

Obi-Wan looked aghast at this point, so Anakin took a deep breath. “Kiki, _darling,_ ” he said, attempting to put on his best Obi-charm but floundering significantly, “uhm, neither of us have any clue what you’re harping on about right now so can we do some more of the photos you took at the start? I think that’s the direction Skynobi wants to go for this album.”

The two of them resumed their places with Obi-Wan leaning into Anakin’s shoulder, their arms entwined, and the older man’s mullet barely brushing up against Anakin’s cheek. After what seemed like some awful, bewildering eternity, Kiki stood up and grinned. 

“That’s a wrap, you two,” he beamed. “Have a wonderful day.” The man sauntered out of the studio casually, not before picking up his shoes and doing a small skid on the carpet. Grumbling, Anakin helped Obi-Wan up and they walked back into the low-lit styling room. Surely-Deborah was picking up the white satin blouse on the floor and holding it up to herself in the mirror, until Obi-Wan snatched it out of her hands. 

“I’ll take that, thanks very much Deborah,” he said, not even bothering to hide the touch of annoyance in his voice, and looking to Anakin holding the suitcase at the door. As they took their steps into the sunlight, they heard a sudden call from behind them.

“It’s Susan, by the way!”

~

Obi-Wan poured himself a glass of red wine, before offering the bottle to Anakin. “I think after, well, _whatever_ today was, we’ve earned ourselves a good drink.” Obi-Wan had continued the shirtless, or at least semi-shirtless vibe, now wearing a baby pink satin robe loosely tied at the waist. His mullet’s huge styling had remained, even with his _apparently_ futile attempts to subdue it with water. 

“White, please, I don’t know how you drink the stuff,” Anakin snorted. He had thrown on a random buttondown shirt, barely done up, and a loose pair of plum corduroy pants. He pushed himself off the cupboards he’d been leaning against, chipped green paint clinging to his hands. “Surely we have some somewhere.” 

“I’m afraid that’s all we have, Anakin. Unless you like gin, but I wanted to save that after we released Skynobi,” Obi-Wan smiled wryly. 

Anakin shrugged and took the red, giving himself a small pour and swirling it around. “Here’s to us, I guess.”

“Cheers, my darling.”

As the two glasses clinked, Anakin drank it all in one go and set it down on the scratched wooden benchtop. He swung himself up on the bench and tossed his hair back. “Just think, Obi-Wan, we’ll be able to pay rent, drink whatever we want” - at that, he coughed a tad, the wine definitely not agreeing with him - “wear whatever we want. We just need to get this album happening.”  
  


Obi-Wan chuckled. “We have a scandalous enough cover, don’t we? I’m sure we’ll be able to get some records moving. We just need to promote it as much as we can.”

“Why don’t we play a little bit tonight? Make sure we stay up to skill and all.”

“Anakin, don’t you want to relax for once?” Obi-Wan groaned. 

Anakin rolled his eyes and made his way to the small living room, cramped with velvet chairs and colourful throws on the ground. He collapsed into a chair, almost admitting defeat, until his eyes lit up.

“What if we did Crystal?” 

Anakin knew defeat when he saw it, and when Obi-Wan grabbed his guitar and handed it to him, he knew he had won. As Anakin began the first strums of the F chord, beginning its gentle descent down, Obi-Wan nestled in close and pressed his cheek to Anakin’s, a flush travelling up both of their necks. Fighting the urge to look at his beautiful lover and close the rest of the distance between them, Anakin busied himself with fixing up the tuning.

“Always that B, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan laughed. 

Anakin returned it easily, and happy enough with the tuning, he took a deep breath. 

_“Do you always trust your first initial feeling? Special knowledge holds truth, bears believing,”_ Anakin began, the slightest of warmth at the top notes. The notes swam in his range beautifully - he had always been partial to the key, but this was probably his favourite instance of it. With a descending chord progression it seemed utterly predictable, but he had tweaked a few of the inversions to push and pull with where it seemed to go like water. 

_“Like the love, that finally, finally found me.”_

Obi-Wan was still pressed against his cheek, and the combination of the line and Anakin almost forgetting the change of progression was enough to make the beautiful man _smile._ Feeling his cheek move against his, the smallest of noises in the back of his throat, almost sent Anakin under. This man, who he had met so long ago and loved for so long, meant everything to him. 

He searched amongst the uncertainty of the descending chords for a change, an anchor to only find it in the B-flat. Now with its turn to ascend, Obi-Wan finally joined him in an aching harmony. 

_“Drove me through the mountains, through the crystal-like and clear water fountain.”_

Obi-Wan had defied expectations and opted for the fifth up instead of his usual third, right on the notes that filled out the minor chords Anakin had chosen. He improvised a chord change - Dm, C, D minor, before descending back down to the B-flat teetering on the suspended edge of something more. Obi-Wan’s harmony blended so overwhelmingly well with his own voice; with his finger picking, it almost sent him over the edge. 

Anakin reluctantly returned to unison, taking a deep breath before returning to the verse. It was only for an instant before he was joined once more. 

_“And I have changed; you’ve remained ageless.”_

Obi-Wan took the harmony in the second phrase, adding a little ornamentation. Anakin loved it when he improvised vocals with such ease. He could negotiate the highs and lows of his range in the same way Anakin gravitated to his guitar - it was natural. Secondhand. 

Comping some strumming, Anakin couldn’t help but land a dig in there - “ageless? Perhaps not you, old man.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and pressed a giddy kiss to Anakin’s shoulder, before resuming his place against Anakin’s face. 

It was all he needed to continue. 

The older man was only a third up but felt so much further away, only pressed against him on the couch yet felt like he was floating far away from his lover in an ocean of longing. Sensing his anguish, Anakin felt a small hand ground his back. It was comforting, and gave him all he needed to pluck a few more lonely notes in the chord. His guitar sang with his newly added strings - for a different sound he’d strung it up with a 12-string pack, adding a delicate twang that blended beautifully with Obi-Wan’s falsetto. 

Knowing he had Obi-Wan by his side for the rest of the song was all he needed, and they returned to the heartbreaking ascent of the B-flat chorus. Obi-Wan could probably explain to him the finer points of music theory to him but he’d always shake his head in annoyance; Anakin just knew chords and how to use his fingers. That was certainly enough for him (and it had always been enough for Obi-Wan, he thought with a blush). 

_“Drove me like a magnet, to the sea...”_

The two of them improvised around each other, twirling and shaping their phrasing. Obi-Wan was being particularly self-indulgent tonight, pulling around his rhythm as much as he could get away with. 

“You do indulge me darling, don’t you?” his shoulder asked him with that gorgeous accent.

Indeed Anakin had no clue where Obi-Wan was at this point, where he was up to, so all he could do was pluck a few indecisive chords until something felt right. 

_“To the sea...”_

It was nothing else. It was Obi-Wan, it was only Obi-Wan, he was everything and nothing and the rise and fall and the push and pull and he pressed himself tighter against him, holding his guitar as strong as he could.

_“To the sea, yeah...”_

How he wished he could whisk Obi-Wan away to the sea where they could write together for eternity. It would be them, only them, no Deborahs and Kikis and labels to try and push them to new heights. Feel the salt whip through his hair and taste it on Obi-Wan’s lips, and fly with the waves before diving deep in the rip tide. _It’s you,_ Anakin thought desperately, as he felt Obi-Wan leave his side for the last phrase. 

_“To the sea, yeah....”_

Anakin barely whispered it, afraid to let his emotions break him open and rush out like a current. As he played a delicate outro, following the last of those aching chords to silence. The song finally done, Anakin set his guitar onto one of the tattered throws on the ground and returned to Obi-Wan, wrapping his arms around his waist and settling against his warm chest. Anakin couldn’t take it.

“I love you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan gently pulled Anakin up to face him and meet his blue eyes. “My Skywalker...” he whispered, before after what felt like an eternity of tension and longing and _waves_ , he kissed him. 

It was enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cantina Choice (uh that's what I'm calling my song choices for each chapter I guess???) is Crystal - Buckingham Nicks (1973). the 75' Fleetwood Mac version is gorgeous, yeah , and so is Stevie's, but the key of the original, the tweaks in the arrangement, the harmonies, and most of all the context... lindsey and stevie be breaking my heart sometimes, yo :')
> 
> oh some Fun Fleetwood (Mac) Facts (FFF) for this chapter (I guess the canon world of the mac lmao) -  
> \- yes, stevie bought a $111 top (2020 $638 ouch) top just for the buckingham nicks shoot, only to be told to go topless and she was hella annoyed bout it  
> \- lindsey strung up his six-string with twelve-string strings to give it a distinct harpsichord sound, which you can hear on Crystal  
> \- the key/harmony/muso stuff about crystal is (hopefully) accurate, time to flex my piano/music theory yeet. pretty cool how it starts off descending down the chords for the verse, and then ascending up the chords for the chorus - sonically in some ways I suppose that represents the up and down motion of a wave. water. fountain. lindsey is a GENIUS. 
> 
> okok finally - this is my first ever fic so I'm crazy hyped to see where this will go!!


	2. flown across every tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter some new characters (yew!), some farewells, and the chance for a new beginning.

_ naboo, 1974 _

“I really do have to go,” Quinlan laughed, letting go of her hand and sliding over to the other side of the bench.

“It’s only quarter to one, Quin, surely we can stay for a little longer?” Asajj drawled, pulling him back and sliding his hand up her thigh.

She swore she could almost see his pupils blow out until he collected himself. “As much as I want all of  _ this  _ right now,” he whispered, gesturing to her body, “I really do need to get back in the studio. The tour setlist isn’t going so well...”

Asajj stood up, holding onto her long skirt breezily brushing the concrete. “Then de-stressing sounds perfect.” Quinlan still sitting down, she caught him in a passionate kiss, mouths open and deliciously firm. Breaking apart, she thumbed over the yellow tattoo over his nose and ran her fingers through his dreadlocks. 

“Devilishly handsome, you are,” she whispered. That was all it took for him to pull her back down to his level, barely straddling his lap.

“So what does that make you then, sweetheart?”

Don’t make me show you where I want to see this purple lipstick, Quin.”

He snorted before pulling her in again, the two colliding together once more. It didn’t take long for his hands to slip under her shirt with a pinch here and there, or for their tongues sliding against each other, almost daring them to ask where else they could be put to better use. 

She opened her eyes to see Quinlan grabbing at her wrist. “Is this time right?” His eyes were wide, panicked.

“To the minute. Why?”

“My love, I’m sorry, but I have to go, I’m going to be so late...” as he began to run away, he paused and turned back. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Ventress.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr Vos,” she smiled, watching as he kissed her hand delicately. 

~

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late,” Quinlan said, putting down his bass guitar case and walking into the recording room. 

“Not our problem, Quin,” Padme sighed, doodling a bluesy melody on the piano. 

“Padme, stop that,” Qui-Gon shouted. “We’ve got bigger problems than late band members and,” he took a deep breath, “can you  _ please  _ for the love of God stop playing for one minute?”

“I still don’t see what the problem is, Qui-Gon. I’m just telling you I’m not loving our... direction. Inertia.” Dooku sighed, putting his hands on his hips. 

Qui-Gon sat down on the amp, head in his hands. “Inertia? We’ve dropped at  _ least _ one, even two albums every year, you’ve had major artistic direction on most of them, and we’re about to go on tour! Isn’t that enough for you? As for direction, once again you’ve been calling the shots on these time and time again. Dooku, you’re crazy talented, but we need to bring this band into the now. Blues isn’t going to be the way forward. Unless we can work some of it into the  _ now _ , pave the way for the future, we’re going to be stuck playing the same circuit here in Naboo for the rest of our lives.”

Dooku merely shrugged. “Inertia may not have been the right word. I just don’t know how I feel about the direction.”   
  
This was not the kind of thing Quinlan was hoping to walk into for the day - The Force had been a wild enough ride as it was, but when the band blew up, all hell would break loose.

“Dooku, we can’t help you unless you can help us understand. What’s the issue?” Quinlan asked. He had always been a fan of Dooku’s bluesy guitar riffs and emotional, dignified style - it perfectly coupled with his rock-solid yet a tad unorthodox bass. Dissonant harmonies would somehow resolve themselves when you least expected it - that kind of pull must’ve made their playing so alluring to the Nabooian folk. 

“It’s nothing personal, everyone. I just don’t feel comfortable with this lifestyle anymore.” Dooku rested a hand on his pocket, a faint outline just seen through his jeans. “Earning money, being with people so constantly, endless creation - sometimes I just want to stop. Giving it all away is where I’d like to be right now.” 

Qui-Gon stood up and took Dooku’s face in his hands. “D, this isn’t you. I know you. You founded this band, brought me here... I don’t know where I’d be without you.” As he gazed into his face, Qui-Gon took a step back. “There’s nothing here. You’re not here right now, are you?” he breathed. 

Quinlan finally understood and took a step forward, grabbing the small outline of a tin case outside of Dooku’s pocket.

“It’s the spice, isn’t it?” Quinlan whispered, opening the tin. A smattering of brown powder tipped onto the ground. “You haven’t been the same since-”   
  


“Since the show a month ago. When you were in that commune for the weekend.” Qui-Gon finished.

Dooku’s eyes filled with tears. “I think about them every day, you know. They made me feel so many things that night... helped me understand where I was meant to be.” As soon as it came, it was gone; his face closed up once more, all emotion gone. 

“If this is your calling, you need to go,” Padme whispered. “You know there was no going back that day, and there’s none now.”

“Padme, you can’t be saying this. He’s basically high right now, he has no clue what he’s  _ doing _ . What he’s  _ throwing away! _ ” Qui-Gon cried. His long hair fell into his despondent face, now realising there was no saving his old friend now. 

It was recreational at first, Dooku said, until one night a new group came and offered him something new. This was from a different mine on Ryloth, not the normal spice run by the Pykes. For hours they had no clue where he was, until he reappeared a few days later sporting a beard and shorn hair. He could still play brilliantly - he was one of the most talented guitarists in the system - but things here and there didn’t seem right after that. The way he talked. The odd look on his face as he lost focus, lost in another world. His aggression when they discussed finances, instead insisting they gave it all away.

Qui-Gon knew he was gone. A month and everything had changed - the man who had plucked him out of obscurity and welcomed him into The Force, a band that had become his family, for which he was meant to stay the heartbeat for. 

How could he be the one holding it all together when he felt like he was falling apart?   
  


“Dooku, old friend... I’m sorry. I’ve failed you. I tried... I tried, I tried... can we just...” Qui-Gon teared up again, before clearing his throat and brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Can we play together one last time?”

Walking into the control room, he found the tape for Man of the World and plugged it in. “Just... one more time,” Qui-Gon whispered. 

The warmth of Dooku’s guitar filled the room, as Qui-Gon grabbed Dooku’s hands gently. “Sing with me.”

_ I could tell you about my life, and keep you amused, I’m sure - about all the times I cried and how I don’t want to be sad anymore. _

It was some of his best work, only written just the other day, but by far the saddest thing he’d ever written. Qui-Gon should’ve known then things had changed. 

As the guitar faded out, a single tear ran down Dooku’s cheek.

Wordlessly he stood up, grabbing his guitar and walking out of the studio. 

Qui-Gon ran after him, tears streaming down his face, begging the man for another chance, for another day, for  _ anything _ . Inside, Padme and Quinlan held each other, both silently crying for a man who had left them long before they had realised it. As Qui-Gon walked back in, filled with defeat, he stepped back into the booth and started the tape again. Amongst the scattering of cables, the three of them embraced as the soft guitar swam through the studio.

_ I don’t say I’m a good man... oh, but I would be if I could... _

  
  
  
  
  


_ coruscant, a few months later _

“Alright, take five everyone,” Qui-Gon called out over his drum kit, and attempted to call out over the cacophony of glissandos and guitar runs. After standing up and finally getting everyone’s attention, he cleared his throat. “I reckon we go out for a drink tonight. Got some things to celebrate, don’t we?” 

“Hear, hear,” Quinlan nodded, now packing up his bass and clipping the case shut. Padme beamed at him from behind her keyboard, now improvising around a bluesy bass. 

“C’mon, Padme, let’s get ready together,” Quinlan gestured to her. “You should see this new shirt I got, it’s to die for...”

The two of them walked out arm in arm, chatting warmly. Qui-Gon smiled after them before heading into the sound booth.

“Mr Koon, I’d like to thank you for coming along today. Your mixing was incredible.”

The producer smiled. “That is very kind of you. But please, call me Plo.”

“I think you’re exactly what we need for this new direction. Blues is fun and all, but we’re not on Naboo anymore. We needed a change, and I think you’re it,” Qui-Gon said excitedly. 

“That’s wonderful to hear. I think you guys have something really special here. Even though you’re clearly down some members.”

Qui-Gon looked at the ground for a second before continuing. “Our guitarist quit a few months ago. I lost a very dear friend in him.”

Plo bowed his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. If you want any help though, I’m happy to find someone for you.”

“That’s very kind of you but I think Quinlan’s keen on ‘scouting the next big talent’ himself, I think he said.” Qui-Gon held back a snort and ran his hands through his hair. “Either way though, before we close the deal do you have anything you’ve produced I can listen to? Released singles and the like, not always the same as in-studio stuff.” Back to business, Qui-Gon thought. As a drummer, it was his job to helm the direction of the band - he didn’t have much of a choice, really. Quinlan was a great friend but naturally had other priorities; Padme was too busy playing piano non-stop to notice the finer points of the band. That being said, when it came to music she was incredibly astute - she could write a perfect song in minutes, break down the structure of any genre and replicate it, and navigate any key with ease. Where Qui-Gon was all business, Padme was all music.  _ Though she really should be here to listen to some of this stuff _ , he thought. 

Plo Koon pulled some tapes from a satchel in the corner. “I had a feeling you might ask that. I mixed this one last year actually - two young things. Very talented.”

The tape started with a warm guitar intro and some fiddles - the guitar playing was quite tricky, Qui-Gon noted, with a strong male vocalist. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a second voice harmonised effortlessly in a brilliant falsetto. They were good, and the mixing was quite genius - plucky instrumentation that gave way to more and more. 

“Plo, this is fantastic.”   
  


Suddenly, all the layers dropped away to a guitar - was it two - with a fantastic finger picking solo. Slow, eerie strings harmonised around it, echoing, and boosting the guitar to new heights. The minor theme was twisted again and again, arpeggiated and repeated and changed when you least expected it. 

Who was this kid?

As it evolved into a blistering electric solo, his eyes widened. Not only was this the producer he needed, the new direction The Force needed to go, but this guy... they needed this guitarist. 

As the song came to a close, Qui-Gon’s mind was racing. He needed to get this kid on board as soon as he could - he could see the contracts, the tour, the  _ music _ ...

“Plo Koon, I need you to tell me who this guitarist is.” Qui-Gon stared at him intensely.

“That was Frozen Love by Skynobi. I think who you’re referring to is Mr Anakin Skywalker.”

Anakin Skywalker? With a name like that he was a star in the making. This kid was going to go far - he was sure of it.  _ Also _ , Qui-Gon wondered,  _ what kind of a god-awful name was Skynobi?  _

Qui-Gon grinned wide and tossed his hair, before snapping his head back to Plo, deathly serious. “Anakin Skywalker... that kid is gonna be in my band.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry bout the pain it hurt me too kay
> 
> Cantina Choice is Man of the World - Fleetwood Mac (1968). the haunting lyrics, simple guitar, and hopeless vocals... truly some of Peter Green's best work. 
> 
> FFF (Fun Fleetwood Facts) too:  
> \- producer story is true! Frozen Love was played to Mick Fleetwood (drummer) when he wanted to hear some stuff by his new producer. Instantly captivated by the guitarist, he set out on a journey that changed the course of music history forever. ooh!  
> \- irl Christie McVie (keyboard) and John McVie (bass) were married but divorced between Fleetwood Mac (1975) and Rumours (1977). would have loved to fit these two in - anidala/obitine would have worked sooo well off the bat for this marriage but obikin were tied up soo (don't worry there's plenty of pain to come)  
> \- Dooku's flair for the dramatic yet precise is all him, but his story is loosely based on Peter Green - one bad trip and things changed forever. also thought about Syd Barrett of Pink Floyd while writing; similar story. those two stories break my heart to hear. rest in peace legends.


	3. take my love, take it down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin and Obi-Wan finally get an audience. Of sorts.

_ coruscant, 1974 _

“Obi-Wan,” breathed Anakin, feeling the older man tug gently against his soft brown curls. He found himself getting tugged into Obi-Wan’s lap, wrapping his own legs around his hips tightly. “You’re so beautiful.”

Obi-Wan just about smashed his face into Anakin’s at his breathy sigh, taking in his tangled hair and flushed face. His hands tightly wove down his arms, taunt and strong, and he pushed himself against the younger man straddling on top. Groaning at the friction, he quickly found himself unzipping his jeans; he needed  _ more _ . His kisses grew rough and aggressive as Anakin followed suit, their tongues sliding hotly and hands trailing all over the place.

Suddenly the telephone rang. 

Anakin swore loudly as he rolled off Obi-Wan, now groaning. Anakin swung himself off the bed and flung across the pulled satin curtain opening up to the living room - walls were expensive, it turned out - before zipping up his jeans and plonking himself down at the telephone table, almost falling off the little cushion on the seat. He rolled his eyes and, on the fifth ring, picked up the telephone. 

“Skynobi Residence, this is Anakin speaking,” Anakin sighed, squeezing his legs together tightly and staring at the cracked ceiling. 

A male voice on the other end coughed. “Anakin? Anakin Skywalker? Is that you?” 

“Uhm, yes?”

“Far out.” Silence. “Sorry, two-four-six, my name’s Qui Gon Jinn, and I’m the drummer for a band called The Force. Heard of us?”

Anakin raked a hand through his hair and rested an elbow on the table. “Can’t say I have.”

“That’s a shame,” the man said, before clearing his throat. “Sorry, I wouldn’t have called you at this hour normally-”

“It  _ is _ a quarter past eleven, you know-” Anakin tried to interrupt.

“See, the band wanted drinks post recording, and I couldn’t get away, and... Sorry. That’s not why I’m calling. I got your telephone number from a Mr Plo Koon? He produced a record for you guys last year?”

Anakin froze. Plo? He had certainly produced their absolute bummer of an album (not even Kiki’s cover could save it apparently), but what did someone want with them a year later?

“That would be correct,” Anakin said hesitantly, twirling his fingers in the telephone cord. 

Qui-Gon started talking extremely quickly. “Well, we just hired Plo to produce our next album and he played us Frozen Love? And I was absolutely blown away by your guitar. How did you learn to play like that? Anyways, I mean, I haven’t asked the band yet, I only heard the tape today, but I want you in my band. In The Force. Whaddya reckon?”

Anakin blinked. 

Obi-Wan peered out from behind the curtains, still shirtless, and quirked an eyebrow. Anakin was frantically mouthing something at him, completely unintelligible, and Obi-Wan sighed. Who would be calling at this hour?

“Is that a yes?”

“Uhm...” Anakin considered. “Is this invitation extended to Kenobi? Obi-Wan Kenobi, the other half of our duo? Not that we’ve been playing as much lately, but-”

Qui-Gon snorted. “Skynobi, of course! Terrible name by the way, but... look, we only need a guitarist at the moment-”

“He writes, too. Beautifully.” Anakin smiled at Obi-Wan warmly, who was still looking completely bewildered.”

A sigh on the other end of the telephone. 

“Look, why don’t you come around tomorrow? We can play you some stuff, just at our place... we have heaps of stuff that didn’t make it onto Skynobi we could rejig with you?”

“I’m there,” said Qui-Gon, pen audibly scribbling their address down. “But look, I’m really not sure-”

“I’m not going unless he comes with me,” Anakin declared. “It’s both of us or none. Package deal. Take it or leave it.”

There was silence, until Qui-Gon burst until laughter. “A package deal! Now that’s a good one. I’ll see you two first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Sure thing.” Anakin hung the phone up and put his hands on his head. 

“What was that all about?” Obi-Wan asked, walking into the living room. 

“Some guy... Qui-Gon Gym, I think his name was? Jinn?” Anakin paused. “Anyways, he wants to come round tomorrow to hear us play.”

“Anakin, we haven’t played in years. Skynobi was a flop, mid-range in the charts for a week, and worst of all Rolling Stone called it ‘pleasant, albeit middleweight’!  _ “Middleweight’ _ !” Obi-Wan yelled. “We’ve barely been able to pay our rent... I’ve been a  _ cleaning guy _ for God’s sake!”

“Well, I hope you’ve still got it, since I told him it was both of us or nothing. He only wanted me, you know,” Anakin shrugged.

_ “Have you lost your mind? _ ” Obi-Wan practically shrieked. “He wanted  _ you  _ yet you bargained for me too?! I’m not going to be the one to hold you back here, Anakin, I won’t let you.” Obi-Wan shook his head. 

Anakin merely smiled. “I’m not playing without you, Obi-Wan. I did it because I love you.”

“Sweetheart,” Obi-Wan blushed, before composing himself again, “that’s very kind of you but I’m  _ not letting you throw this one away _ .”

“But  _ sweetheart _ ,” Anakin said, trying out the Coruscanti accent and failing, “that’s not gonna happen. Tomorrow is gonna be  _ killer _ . We just have to pull out our usual magic.”

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair and draped a hand round Anakin’s shoulder. “You’re going to be the death of me, dear one. Let’s try and get some sleep first, hm?”

With that, Anakin shut the curtain and the two of them fell backwards onto the bed, and fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

~

Qui-Gon held steadily onto his umbrella as he walked up the street, narrowly avoiding a puddle in the cracked path. Taking a lazy puff of his cigarette, he checked the scrawled note he’d written with their address - surely such a talented musician couldn’t live in such a rough part of town, right? Then again, it was music; everyone was struggling in one way or another. 

He found himself at the landing of a series of flats - a rusty, winding staircase extending from the left of the first floor’s door, and the first floor door (presumably Anakin’s based on his note) with the worst paint job Qui-Gon had ever seen. Even the landing had overgrown weeds, cracked concrete and a missing step. It was a shame - the building was a grand one of sorts, if not for its dismal state of disrepair. 

Qui-Gon wondered if the interior was any better. 

Taking another puff of his cigarette, he knocked on the door and closed up his umbrella.

A young man, somewhere in his early twenties, with tousled dark blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, answered the door. He had dressed in a black silky shirt plunging down his chest and flares, which had clearly been measured to account for platforms. House slippers left them dragging uselessly on the floor, which made Qui-Gon smirk for a second before finally meeting the young man’s eyes. The man raised his eyebrows at him, before relaxing into an easy grin.

“Anakin Skywalker,” the young man said, extending his hand. Qui-Gon shook it and followed him inside, shoving his cigarette down in the depths of the empty ashtray on the foyer table. 

“You don’t smoke?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“Obi-Wan would rather save money,” Anakin smirked. 

Qui-Gon took in the studio apartment - it was small and run-down, but they had managed to do an alright job at making it feel like a home. On his left, the kitchen had been repainted - albeit badly - in a forest green, which worked wonderfully with the dark wood countertops. It was a shame the fridge was hideous, but no matter; Polaroids and film had been tacked on with magnets, and from where he was standing he could see a number of gig pictures. Anakin in black, another in floaty white.

The living room was beautiful - scuffed velvet chairs, throw rugs, and plenty of pillows had been thrown about in a comfortable disarray, with plenty of oranges, pinks, reds and greens to highlight. The low level chairs, he noted, would be well-suited to playing guitar, which he now saw a few hanging on the wall. A keyboard sat on top of one of the chairs - nothing particularly flash, but good enough to doodle around on it.  _ Definitely something Padme could work with _ , he thought with a snicker.

Anakin had settled into the plushy couch and gestured to Qui-Gon, who took a yellow armchair on the other side of the living room. Twirling a strand of his long hair in his hand, he was about to ask about the other half of Skynobi when the curtain on the other side of the room was pushed back.  _ The bedroom _ , he registered, before turning his attention to the man who had just walked - no,  _ swanned -  _ out. 

A glorious auburn mullet cascaded down an easy, open face, with blue eyes and a casual grin. Orange satin pants and a matching duster coat swept through the air, and as he made his way over to Qui-Gon, he shrugged off the coat to reveal a sharp-collared short-sleeved shirt. 

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man said, extending his hand. “I like your vest,” he nodded, gesturing to Qui-Gon. 

“I can appreciate a man with fine tastes,” Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, “it seems we share the same affinity for the aesthetically pleasing.”

Obi-Wan plonked himself down onto the couch and looped his arm through Anakin’s, who raised his eyebrows. “Mm, I don’t think he’s wrong, do you darling?” Obi-Wan winked. 

Qui-Gon looked at them dumbly.  _ Package deal _ , Anakin had said over the phone. 

_ Oh. _

Lovers? Lover in a band? That was quite the complication in some ways, but maybe not. Electric stage presence, powerful songs... but the chance to completely and utterly self-destruct and bring everything down with it. Unlikely, but possible.

“You two are cute,” Qui-Gon agreed, “but I’d love to know more about your music.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan looked at each other and paused, before exploding into chatter.

“The Byrds, Beatles, Beach Boys, Dylan,” Anakin began, rattling off influences on his hand-

“-Joni Mitchell, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix for me,” Obi-Wan said excitedly. 

“I taught myself guitar, finger picking, no good with chords but I can play anything-” 

Obi-Wan interjected, “Lyrics and melody are my strong suites, I write on piano mostly-”

“Hang on.” Qui-Gon cleared his throat. “So you guys both write?”

“Sure do.”

Qui-Gon paused and considered. These two moved fast, yet completely in sync. That kind of force was rare in a studio. The Force used to have that when Dooku was in, but who said it had to leave with him?

“Do you reckon you could play me something?”

The two of them looked at each other on the couch and broke into huge, identical grins, like they were sharing some kind of wonderful secret Qui-Gon might be lucky to catch a glimpse into. Like clockwork Obi-Wan grabbed a guitar for Anakin and handed it to him, then landed his head on his shoulder and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“This is called Landslide,” Obi-Wan said softly. “Anakin and I wrote it last year when we weren’t sure where things were going to take us.”

Qui-Gon wiped his hands on his pants; the air was thick with  _ something  _ he couldn’t put his finger on. 

Anakin started off with a soft finger-picked solo that flowed like water - tending down, then climbing back up. Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed gently, tucking himself further into Anakin’s neck. After a few repeats of the introduction, Obi-Wan opened his mouth. 

_ “I took my love, I took it down. I climbed a mountain, and I turned around.” _

Qui-Gon had no other words for it - his voice was stunning. His accent shone through in the best way, and the touch of gravel brought a richness to it that felt almost unexpected. It was soft, yet commanding; quiet yet demanding. He saw Anakin glance sideways at his lover and smile gently, the two almost wordlessly communicating through their song. As Obi-Wan rose to the highs in the melody, Anakin’s eyelashes fluttered. 

_ ‘Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?” _

As a drummer, it was Qui-Gon’s job to be in sync with everyone in his band. Careful observation came natural to him, whether it was picking up on when to keep the tempo strict when Quinlan was being particularly self-indulgent, or sensing Padme’s emotions and feeling his way through slowing things down. He thought he was connected to his band, but these two?  _ In sync would be a tremendous understatement _ , he thought wryly. They practically played as  _ one _ , breathing on the same downbeats and meeting each others’ eyes every so often, accompanied by the smallest quirk of Anakin’s lips and a delicate blush across Obi-Wan’s face. 

Finally the chords changed, in a surprising inversion that gave way to a new place in the key. Or modulation, Qui-Gon couldn’t tell; everything in his mind just seemed to fade away hearing them play.  _ The chorus,  _ Qui-Gon realised, mildly surprised at how much it had crept up on him. In the smallest instant, Anakin looked to Obi-Wan as if he was asking permission for something, before he received a small nod in return. 

_ “Well I’ve been afraid of changing, because I built my life around you.”  _

The question was clear; Obi-Wan had taken to his falsetto up in a stunningly simple harmony and let Anakin take over the melody. His voice was bright and piercing, with fast vibrato that demanded captivation and attention. While Obi-Wan seemed more subtle, Anakin was imploring, begging for him to listen. 

And Qui-Gon was. 

Folk-rock was such a different sound to Qui-Gon’s usual blues tendencies, but the meaning? The power and feeling and care and  _ emotion _ , coming and going in waves like a rising tide filling him up and washing back out again, reaching every inch of his body-

_ “I’m getting older too.” _

Qui-Gon was getting older, that was for sure. He had spent so much of his own life out of love, focusing on the drive that was music, that was his band. Even though it was so long ago now, the loss of his closest friend still rang true. They had indeed built their life together - built a band from nothing, and took it to new heights - until one of them had grown apart and grown away. Qui-Gon was always afraid he would be the one who would change, that he’d move onto new music and bigger bands, but it was never him that would be the issue. 

It wasn’t his fault. 

_ It wasn’t my fault _ .

Qui-Gon blinked for a moment, suddenly inundated with emotion-

Anakin picked away at a gentle guitar solo, straining for peaks before taking it back down to comfortable valleys. In a delightful little rundown before giving way to the modulation of the chorus, Obi-Wan squeezed Anakin’s shoulder again and let out a tinkling little laugh. Qui-Gon ran his hands through his hair. These two were-

_ “But time makes you bolder...” _

The air grew thick again, straining to contain the sheer power of the two sitting together on the couch, only sitting beside each other but seeming as if they were so much closer, their souls connected and entwined and-

Now Qui-Gon realised what the feeling in the air was before, the palpable, thick tension was in fact  _ chemistry _ , an unmistakable, powerful connection that he couldn’t quite get a grasp on. Obi-Wan finally turned to Anakin and met his eyes, watching Anakin’s lips part delicately.

_ “I take my love, take it down.” _

The guitar had slowed down dramatically now in the final iteration of the verse, Qui-Gon assumed. Obi-Wan was now singing directly to Anakin, who struggled to hold back the tiniest of grins every so often. 

_ “And if you see my reflection in the snow...” _

Obi-Wan lingered on the final word in the phrase, letting his voice ring through the living room, before taking a shuddering breath. 

Qui-Gon couldn’t help but think of Dooku.

_ “Oh, oh, the landslide will bring it down.” _

It was a moment before Qui-Gon realised they had finished playing with a final strum, now looking at Qui-Gon expectantly. As if they had no idea what they had just created. 

Qui-Gon wordlessly stood up and crossed the room, walking towards the door.

Anakin stood up abruptly. “Qui-Gon, I’m sorry but you can’t just leave us-”

“Address is next to the phone,” Qui-Gon called back, before looking over his shoulder. “Tuesday, 9am. I’ll see you there.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Both of us?”

The click of the door opening. 

“I’ll see both of you there,” he said, the smallest of smiles in his voice. As he shut the door, he could hear the sounds of the two of them embracing, celebrating the beginning of a new era. Qui-Gon picked up his umbrella and opened it, almost falling into the puddle by the missing step on the way, and vanished into the crowd.

No one noticed the smallest of tears sliding down the older man’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took a while to write smh but thanks for the patience! was mostly written on a late night drive/the morning afterward and now I am very sad, the emotions are all just :') (oh and happy new yearrrr!)
> 
> Cantina Choice is Landslide - Fleetwood Mac (1975). A classic. 
> 
> FFF -   
> \- Stevie Nicks wrote Land in '73 about being unsure whether to continue her dreams of music or go back to school. An all time fav (and made me cry seeing it live :'))  
> \- Lindsey has a suuuper distinct finger picking style of guitar and Rolling Stone named him in the top 100 guitarists of all time (it's well deserved, he is CRIMINALLY underrated)


	4. shake it loose together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new era begins for The Force as the new lineup unites for the first time.

_ coruscant, new year’s eve 1974 _

Anakin leaned over the bathroom sink, running a comb through his wet hair. His hair was misbehaving a little today - in other words, the gentle tousled curls were suddenly  _ huge _ , and he couldn’t help but groan in annoyance at his reflection. 

“Darling, if you keep sighing like that I’m going to throw you over my shoulder and get you on that bed,” Obi-Wan clucked from the closet.

Anakin’s eyes widened. He spun around, intending to give the man a piece of his mind, until he found himself caught in an embrace and hauled out to their bed. “Obi-Wan-”

“What exactly do you wear to impress your new band?” Obi-Wan asked, letting him go and draping an arm over his shoulders. “Do we go for the outrageous, the showstopping, the  _ glam _ , or do we settle for our usual? See, I don’t even know where we’re going tonight, so how on  _ Coruscant _ do you expect me to choose something appropriate?!”

Anakin was still staring at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan sighed. “You’re miles behind, aren’t you? I’m asking for  _ fashion advice _ here, dear. We can save our bedroom shenanigans for later.” 

Anakin snorted before looking back on the bed. There were two vastly different looks - the first was a huge pair of wooden platforms with silver stripes, with deep blue denim flares, a plunging silky floral  blouse, and a sleeveless suede jacket; the other consisted of violent red, silver sequins, feathers, and even bigger -  _ was that possible?  _ \- platforms. 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin paused, unsure of how to put this, “you do realise we’re just going out for dinner, right?”

“Of course,” he said thoughtfully, clearly deliberating, before sighing again. “Curse my inordinate love of sequins.”   
  


Anakin drew Obi-Wan in for an embrace. “Since when am I the responsible one?”

“When it comes to fashion, my love. I know you love it too, but you’re hardly willing to die for it now, are you?”

“I’d die for you,” Anakin proclaimed in a bold whisper, leaving Obi-Wan chuckling as their lips met delicately. 

Anakin pulled away again. “When’d you even get those pants anyway?”

Obi-Wan hurriedly swept away and grabbed some clothes from the wardrobe this time, before shutting the bathroom door rather abruptly. 

“Obi-Wan, c’mon, sequin pants, I wanna know...” Anakin whined.

“I may have done... a trade,” came a mumble from the bathroom.

_ Oh god,  _ Anakin thought, realising he had barely picked out an outfit for the night. Shirtless with jeans was hardly an option, so he threw on a low denim shirt and a leather jacket, tossing his hair back one last time.

Another mumble from the bathroom. “A vinyl. Abbey Road.”

Anakin’s eyes widened and practically turned fiery as he stalked up to the bathroom door and flung it open. “ _ You sold Abbey Road? For sequinned pants? You little- _ ”

His rage was interrupted by the sight of Obi-Wan fully assembled in his wobbly platforms, definitely taller than Anakin’s, and his incredible ensemble. A black leather corset, black velvet pants, a crystalline belt, and dreamy cream lace draped over his shoulders.

Anakin’s jaw dropped.

“When aren’t you going to be surprised by my outfits?” Obi-Wan said quietly, smiling. As outrageous as he could be, the man could be so shy sometimes. A slight oscillation between two worlds, easily navigating the gap between his personas. For Anakin, anything other than two poles of an almost violent intensity to struggle between was absurd. Things just got so  _ loud  _ sometimes. Music was the only way to set himself free. 

Obi-Wan interrupted Anakin’s train of thought. “Well come on, you can’t stare at me all day, now can you? Let’s rock and roll,” he announced grandly, striding out of the bedroom and clicking his heels on the tiles. 

Anakin shook his head and followed him out the door, chasing Obi-Wan out the door and into a taxi. 

“Dex’s Diner, thanks. The one in CoCo Town, main strip,” Obi-Wan huffed, crawling across in the backseat and taking Anakin’s hand. Fortunately for Anakin, Obi-Wan had left behind his rather _ immature _ need for the front seat, now settling to keep his hand on Anakin’s thigh in the back. A small gesture, but infinitely reassuring.

It was more than enough. 

Anakin leant his head against the glass of the taxi. There were people from all walks of life on the streets, all dressed to the nines for the last night of the year. Tuesday was a strange way to end a year - why would you want to start a new year on a Wednesday? Middle of the week was just so-

“Something on your mind, my love?” Obi-Wan asked, gently squeezing Anakin’s thigh. 

He shook his head gently, golden curls falling into his eyes. “Unless you count being hungry.”

There it was - that tinkly little laugh of his, sounding like raindrops on pavement and the playing of random piano keys. His nose scrunching up ever so slightly and his lower lip quivering with each chuckle. The squeeze of his hand on Anakin’s thigh, in some ways an anchor, the slow flutter of his eyelashes as their eyes met. 

“Some things never change, do they darling?”

That beautiful Coruscanti lilt, the steely blue eyes...

It was enough to make Anakin’s heart ache.

Anakin was preoccupied enough trying to  _ not  _ think about the other things Obi-Wan made ache when he felt a rush of air breeze in from his left - Obi-Wan had swept the cab door open for him in a whirl of lace and velvet, with the driver still counting the wad of cash in the front. Anakin tentatively stepped out into the gutter, taking the arm of the gorgeous man in front of him.

The air was cold when they walked through the door, finding themselves in a spotless diner, although dreadfully outdated. It was a typical diner that Anakin would have spent his childhood in, shovelling pancakes heaped with syrupy goodness into his mouth, with rounded windows, red leather, and flashy neon signs. Taking it all in, Anakin hardly noticed the waitress speeding over to them. 

“Hey, I’m Flo,” a girl said chirpily. She was dressed in a skintight hot pink minidress with a blunt bob and red lipstick, smiling toothly at the pair. “I’m your waitress for tonight - table for two?”

Anakin stumbled, but Obi-Wan recovered for him. “Actually we’re meeting some colleagues of ours. A band?”

Her eyes lit up with recognition and she immediately began herding them over to a booth with three heads barely popping up over the seats. 

Anakin’s heart was racing. What if they didn’t like them, or their playing style? Shit, they hadn’t even jammed together before or anything, and they hadn’t even checked genres or tunings or  _ anything _ . And bands were like a family - not exactly something you could just waltz on in and join and have things totally click straight away. Him and Obi-Wan had never really had anything else other than their producer, let alone a whole band of influence and songs to share with on an album. Did they even know where they were going? Were they destined for radio, album sales, Billboard, or just another round of pub circuits? 

Obi-Wan, remarkably in tune with Anakin as always, steadied him with a gentle hand on his elbow. The gesture was enough to get a weak smile out of Anakin - Obi-Wan knew how nervous he got normally, so he could only have imagined how he now felt let alone before something as huge as a  _ totally new start to a music career, what could go wrong?! _

Right as Anakin felt like clawing his eyes out and yanking on his hair, because it was all too much _too much too much toomuch toomuch_ , the three sitting at the table turned around. 

Obi-Wan put a hand on Anakin’s back and smiled at the three others widely. “Hello there.”

Anakin took in the others - their  _ new bandmates  _ \- in front of them. There was Qui-Gon, who they’d met before, wearing yellow flares and a pink buttondown (quite festive, Anakin thought). Another was a man with a yellow tattoo sweeping across his nose, with dreadlocks and a tight, sleeveless shirt. Anakin raised an eyebrow for a split second before noticing his hands tapping on the table.  _ Rhythm section _ , he thought instantly. He had bright, warm eyes that were surprisingly captivating, until Anakin swept his eyes over the third person at the table. 

  
She was petite, dressed in burgundy velvet with sweeping sleeves showing just the hint of long, delicate fingers. Her brown hair cascaded in waves down her back, and she tossed it back with a beautiful smile on her face. Her eyes had been fixated on Obi-Wan next to him, but as she moved her gaze over Anakin, the smallest of blushes crept up her neck. Almost instinctively, Anakin leaned in a little closer to Obi-Wan, leaving the woman with only a demure smile. 

“I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is Anakin Skywalker.” A round of handshakes dealt. 

The man with the yellow tattoo and dreadlocks winked. “Quinlan Vos, bass player of The Force, it’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Obi-Wan chuckled. “And you?” he asked, gesturing to the woman. 

“Oh, I’m Padme Amidala. Keys, kind of vocals-”

“Music extraordinaire,” Qui-Gon finished for her. “Give her a key, music style, a chord progression, she can do anything.”

Padme rolled her eyes. “You’re too kind, Qui.” She paused and turned to face Anakin. “I like your hair.”

Anakin blushed slightly before bowing his head, smiling. “Thanks. If I were you, I’d think about complimenting Obi-Wan too. He’s incredibly vain.”

“Vain? Me? Darling, please, I-”

“You’re the one who took three hours to get ready.”

Quinlan snorted while Qui-Gon let out a most undignified sound, before Padme chuckled. Her laugh was as tinkly and delicate as Obi-Wan’s, Anakin noted. 

“Well, I think it was worth it. That’s a stunning corset,” Padme sighed.

“Thank you, dear,” Obi-Wan grinned. He readjusted himself in it before grabbing a menu off the table. “So, what are what we eating?”

Before they knew it they found themselves completely full, with plates and plates of food lovingly dished out by the owner. Dex - a jolly, enthusiastic man - was thrilled to have business on his opening night, and made them all promise to come back again and bring even more friends along. The group had made easy conversation over dinner, soon giving way to raucous laughter and banter thrown back and forth (“Skynobi is a shit name, for the record,” Quinlan had laughed). Anakin found himself falling into step easy with the crew, surprisingly more than he anticipated. Obi-Wan was right amongst it too, giggling with Padme and talking easily with Qui-Gon, who seemed particularly pleased with how the evening was tracking.

The table stood up and shuffled out the door, waving cheerily to Flo before shutting the door carefully behind them. “I’m stuffed,” Quinlan moaned. “Surely we need to dance some of this off.”

Padme’s face lit up as she linked an arm through Quinlan’s. “The Outlander? We have to take these two in.” She turned to Anakin and dropped her voice down, almost conspiratorially. “It’s seriously insane.” 

“You guys must get out quite a bit, because we’ve done more tonight with you lot than like, ever,” Anakin laughed.

She nodded eagerly. “Best way to unite a band is over food.” She paused. “Or cocktails.”

“You guys do seem really close.”

Padme shrugged. “Well, so are you and Obi-Wan... I can’t wait to hear you guys in the studio.”

“The studio...” Anakin trailed off. That’s right - they were joining a band without even having played with a single one of their members. Yikes.

Sensing his hesitation, she put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him. “You guys are gonna kill it. We’re super easy to play with - well, if you’re a muso, at least - and even not you guys are crazy talented according to Qui so I’m sure we can fit you in somewhere.”

“Obi-Wan can play the tambourine. He’s very talented,” Anakin said sarcastically.

Padme burst out laughing. “Hey, even percussion instruments need some kind of skill.”

Obi-Wan turned from his conversation with Qui-Gon next to him, looking most unimpressed. “Are you insulting me again, Anakin?”

“Hush, you two, we’re here!” Padme yelled. 

Anakin found himself standing on the steps of a loud, neon cacophony of beats and rhythm. People decked out in glitter, glitz and glam were walking both in and out, though those walking out seemed considerably less coordinated than in. 

“Sequins would have been appropriate for tonight, then,” Obi-Wan quipped.

Padme and Quinlan rushed up the steps eagerly, leaving Anakin, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. 

“If you must,” Qui-Gon said, gesturing them to follow. “It’s not really my crowd. I’ll probably head home.”

Anakin considered him for a second. “It is New Year’s Eve though-”

“-So surely we toast to us,” Obi-Wan chimed in.

A blink of an eye and they found the three of them sandwiched between gyrating bodies, indulging in the excess of the evening. Spice, cigarettes and sweat hung almost visibly in the air, punctuated by the disco beats of Gloria Gaynor. The Outlander Club was by no means a distinguished establishment, with scantily clad waiters servicing and seducing patrons all over the place.

Obi-Wan blushed next to Anakin. 

“Let’s get a drink,” Qui-Gon yelled. Quinlan and Padme were already at the bar, ordering potent, fruity cocktails complete with umbrellas. Qui-Gon’s vodka soda arrived swiftly, sloshing all over the mirrored floor. Obi-Wan naturally got his favourite red, and Anakin went for some random shots (he felt he had earned a treat, of sorts). Once all their drinks arrived, still leaning over the bar counter, Qui-Gon raised his glass. 

“To The Force, to us, to a new chapter, to celebrating the end and a beginning, to ‘75, to-”

“Qui-Gon,’ Quinlan shouted, “I can’t hear a bloody word you’re saying, so-”

“ _ CHEERS _ !” Padme screamed, surprisingly loud considering Anakin’s first impression of her. The rest howled in unison, an ecstatic, blissful cry as a toast to a new beginning. 

  
As their glasses clinked, Anakin almost felt everything around him slow down; the bubbles of Qui-Gon’s soda rising in his glass (a rare instance he’d seen vodka served in a flute, but let the man do what he likes); Quinlan still cackling over his particularly orgasmic “cheers!”, and Padme joining in with him; Obi-Wan musing about the dissonant chord that just echoed through the club - “A minor on F... or was it F major on A?”” - where Anakin wasn’t sure if Obi-Wan had said that out loud or he had just invented that dialogue in his head; and the gentle clink of the glasses as their made their toast to a new beginning.

To The Force. 

Their fates had been sealed, Anakin had realised. There was only one way left to go. 

The swirling chord that had echoed through the club before now pounded again - or was it a new iteration? - and again, in a rocking piano intro. 

“ _ I haven’t heard this song in months! _ ” Padme screamed, taking Qui-Gon’s hand and swaying with him. Indeed so - Elton John’s album from the year before had come back in hot, in a sensual, disco peppered remix. Qui-Gon looked utterly lost at Padme’s attempts to move with him, and Quinlan had disappeared from their general vicinity, probably flirting his way around the bar. Anakin imagined he could be quite persuasive when he wanted to. It was nothing compared to what Obi-Wan was up to - unsurprisingly, the man was a beautiful dancer, with an air of tempting grace with each spin of his hips. 

_ “Ooh, but they’re so spaced out...” _

Anakin found himself spun into Padme’s arms, her meeting his eyes with a gentle raise of an eyebrow. Taking his arm, she spun herself out and back into him, until he tipped her back into a tight dip. Her brown eyes flashed to his for an instant until she relaxed into his grip, biting her lip as she looked up at him. Anakin almost dropped her for a second until she burst out into laughter, recovering into another spin and settling her hands on his shoulders.”You’re cool, Skywalker,” she giggled, “but I think someone else has their eyes on you right now.” Glancing past his shoulder, Anakin turned around and followed her gaze to Obi-Wan, almost sinking in the crowd of women with their hands over him.

Flashing a pearly grin, Anakin made his way over to Obi-Wan and started kissing down his neck, running a hand over his chest. 

“Took you long enough to get over here,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, taking Anakin’s arm. “What exactly are you doing, Anakin?” 

“Showing those girls exactly who you belong to,” Anakin murmured, kissing his hand and taking it in a deep bow. 

“How romantic. Well, why don’t we give them a show?” Obi-Wan breathed, Anakin finally understanding.

Anakin ripped open his shirt a few more buttons and slid Obi-Wan’s hand down his chest, using his own to slide through his belt loops and bring their hips together. It was the slightest of grinds so soon that was enough to bring Anakin to a soft pant. Almost as a tease, Obi-Wan backed away into a hip-swirling solo, throwing his lace in a cascade around him. Anakin ran a hand through his sweaty hair, belting out the chorus of the song he had barely noticed was still on. 

“ _ Electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine _ ,” Anakin sang, watching Obi-Wan punctuate each violent chord with a stomp of his platforms and kick of his flares. He was mesmerising to watch, a complete force of nature in his leather and lace. It seemed Anakin wasn’t the only one entirely captivated - a crowd had formed around the two of them.  _ Give them a show _ , Obi-Wan had said. Anakin took full heed and strutted up to him, stuttering in time with the melody, before teasing Obi-Wan with an almost-kiss inches away from his face.

Obi-Wan snapped his teeth together, almost biting Anakin’s lips in the process as if to say,  _ are you teasing me, darling?  _ Anakin took no time in slamming his hips back against Obi-Wan’s, this time drawing an elicit groan from the older man. Spinning Obi-Wan around so his velvet-clad ass was now in front of him, he snuck his hands down for a squeeze and slap, before taking Obi-Wan back into a dip. Obi-Wan pulled himself back up by Anakin’s shirt and launched himself back, the two now circling on the dimly lit dancefloor like sharks. 

The final pounding of chords began to ring through the club, and at that the two of them couldn’t take it anymore. They scrambled for each other, desperately trying to get as close to the other as they could, instead coming together in a fervent kiss with hands groping over leather and denim.

“Let’s get out of here,” Anakin moaned at a particular sensitive nip of his neck, as Obi-Wan took his hand, blew the remaining members of The Force a kiss as they looked on in bemusement, and hurried down the steps of the club. 

  
  


~

  
  


The door slammed shut behind Obi-Wan as Anakin flung him against it, kissing him hard. His tongue aggressively filled Obi-Wan’s mouth, desperate to taste more and more. The two of them chased each other through the apartment until flinging open the curtain to their bedroom. Anakin took no time at all in undoing Obi-Wan’s corset and tearing down his velvet pants, as fiddly as it was. 

“Such a hassle, Obi-Wan,” Anakin grunted as the final eyelet loosened, the lace falling to the front. 

“Shut up and kiss me again,” Obi-Wan moaned, feeling Anakin palm against his boxers. 

Naturally that was all he could do, as Obi-Wan fervently unbuttoned Anakin’s shirt, punctuated with kisses down his taunt chest. His finger swept down his collarbones, hips, and lower until they skimmed the elastic of his underwear. 

Anakin couldn’t take it and flung Obi-Wan flat on the bed, now sitting himself upright on top of him. Slowly, surely, he began grinding his hips against Obi-Wan, holding him in place with one hand and teasing up his chest with the other.

“Do I need to teach you a thing or two, old man?” Anakin smirked, sounding much needier than he intended it to. 

“Anakin, I’ve told you not to call me that - a bit of a mood killer, wouldn’t you agree?” Suddenly Obi-Wan held Anakin’s hips against his own, seizing the moment into a dangerous stillness. In an instant he pulled himself up to Anakin, whispering hotly in his ear, “besides, I think you’ve forgotten who’s in charge in here.”

Anakin whimpered as Obi-Wan pulled his hair back, keeping him in place. He watched Anakin’s eyes widen, feeling his interest rise and harden above him. “There’s so much I’d like to do with you tonight,  _ darling _ , will you let me tell you?” 

Anakin nodded eagerly, unconsciously shifting his hips against Obi-Wan’s. 

“Well firstly, I want to kiss all down your neck, because I know how much you love that, then I’ll kiss all down your chest, and if I’m feeling nice maybe give you a pinch right” - Obi-Wan flickered over his nipple - “here. And then,” Obi-Wan paused, taking a moment to slowly start moving his hips again, “I’ll kiss all down your beautiful stomach and boxers, before I worship you the way you deserve. I’ll use my hands, my tongue, my throat, whatever I can do to take as much of you.”

Anakin’s grinds were becoming harder and more erratic, the man practically moaning at his promises of lust and love. 

Obi-Wan continued. “And, if you do exactly as I say, you might be lucky enough to feel me,” he now grabbed Anakin’s ass and trailed his fingers tantalisingly down, “right in here.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath, struggling to keep his own rising tide of emotions under control. “Can you do that for me?”

Anakin nodded and sighed with pleasure, feeling Obi-Wan gently roll him over and begin kissing down his body. Fingers teased at the elastic of his boxers, and as Obi-Wan took him gently into his mouth, Anakin’s body filled with warmth. 

_ My Obi-Wan. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn sorry this took a while - so much content to get through, and a lot to perfect, and also life lmao but hopefully next update is faster!
> 
> Cantina Choice is Bennie and the Jets - Elton John (1973). the whole club vibe was definitely inspired by the rocketman song scene which is literal perfection in my opinion. let it also be known I would die for taron egerton and sir elton's obsession with F major
> 
> FFF - yep, they met in a (mexican) restaurant on NYE '74 for the first time. pretty coooool. 
> 
> finally - thank you so much for the hits, comments, kudos, subs n bookmarks so far! was not expecting that at all but thank you v much, it's very kind of you all <3


	5. and the lights go down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Force have their first session together, filled with interruptions, improvisions, and self-doubt.

_ coruscant, 1975 _

“Where is everyone?” Obi-Wan asked Padme, who had just breezed in with her satchel. “Qui-Gon specifically said 9am.”

“See, all of us show up on time, but Qui-Gon operates on his own schedule.” She sighed and put her bag on top of the keyboard, sitting down on the piano stool. 

“And Quinlan?”

“Ah,” Padme said knowingly. “He’s probably with Asajj.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “I just assumed he was single, from the way he disappeared at the Outlander.”

“Disappeared to be with Asajj. She’s visiting from Naboo at the moment,” Padme smiled. “We used to be based there before we took the plunge to move here and get into the rock stuff. All anyone wants to hear on Naboo is blues.” With that, she played a groovy little progression with a driving right hand. “Anakin said you can play the tambourine. Any other instruments?”   
  


“Piano, funnily enough. But I’m more into music theory and that.”

“Any good?” she asked, turning to face him. 

“Good enough to know whatever that was,” Obi-Wan nodded his head at her, “was pretty good.”

“Good.” Padme burst out laughing, then turned serious. “But thanks. I think it has some potential.”

“I reckon we should test that one out today,” Obi-Wan agreed.

“Making plans without me, I see,” Quinlan said, lifting his arms up as he entered the studio. “Nice of you to wait, Padme,” he winked. 

“How’s Asajj, then?” Padme asked vaguely. He looked taken aback for a moment until Padme rolled her eyes. “You’ve been late to practice for months, not to mention the stint you pulled on New Years. You know I waited for you for hours, right?” 

Obi-Wan was not privy to such an injustice - had he known he might’ve stayed back with her, but Anakin had him a little  _ preoccupied  _ to notice. At least she was safe with Qui-Gon.   
  


“And I had left. Apologies.” Quinlan unzipped his bass from the back. “Besides, you had Qui-Gon for company didn’t you? He’s a brilliant dancer.”

Padme snorted, before shaking her head with a sweet smile. “Anyways, I’ve been working on this, maybe an intro thing for a few weeks now? Took me a while to click it but I think it has potential.”

She played the same progression Obi-Wan had heard moments ago and watched Quinlan’s face light up. 

“Can you play that again?” Quinlan asked. This time, he added in a groovy little bassline, adding a warmth and boost to the sound. 

“Adding drums to the very end of that, last bar or so, would sound fantastic,” Obi-Wan mused.    
  


“Do you want to get your tambourine?” Padme laughed. “Wait, can you jump on drums? Just, I don’t know, add something interesting.” 

“As you wish, m’lady,” Obi-Wan bowed. “A one-two-three-”

“Four coffees, a bagel for Obi-Wan, and a red velvet slice for me,” Anakin announced, stepping over the cables in the studio as he kicked open the door. “I hope you guys didn’t want any food, but Obi-Wan said you normally have breakfast early.” They nodded, taking their coffees. “Where’s Qui-Gon?”

“See, all of us show up on time, but Qui-Gon operates on his own schedule,” Padme repeated. “What else? Ah, cool progression, Quinlan added a baseline, Obi-Wan was about to add some percussion, do you want to add a solo?”

“Sure,” Anakin shrugged, setting down the guitar Obi-Wan had brought in for him. “What is it?”

“A major.”

“That’s not gonna help me,” Anakin said. “Can you play it for me?”

Padme looked at him inquisitively, before playing the part for him; instantly, he matched pitch and struck the chord. 

“He’s not great with chords,” Obi-Wan said surely, “but he can play anything.”

“I think that’s us good to go then,” Padme nodded before turning to Anakin. “That’s really cool.” She turned back to Obi-Wan, “Reckon you can count us in?”

“A one-two-three-”

“For God’s sake, Quinlan, can you shut the door when you swan in late? Really is very annoying.” 

Quinlan’s eyes widened. “Swanning in late? Qui-Gon, you’re practically the master of that, and besides, the door wasn’t me, it was Anakin-”   
  


Qui-Gon waved his hand dismissively. “Why are you at the drums, Obi-Wan?”

“Filling in, you see Padme came up with a brilliant-”

Obi-Wan was interrupted by the sound of Anakin coughing loudly on his slice. “Slow down, won’t you Anakin?” Why did he feel it was necessary to scarf down food so eagerly, incessantly? As delicious as red velvet was, it was certainly no excuse for impatience.

At the same time, Padme was fervently filling Qui-Gon in on the morning’s happenings before he swanned in late, gesticulating wildly much to Obi-Wan’s amusement, and Quinlan was trying to nail a bassline for the key, before plugging his bass into the amp and turning it up louder, louder...

“ _ Oi! _ ” Qui-Gon yelled. Silence fell in the room.

“Is it always this chaotic?” Anakin mumbled. 

Qui-Gon ran through vaguely how rehearsals ran to the new pair - if there was an idea someone had, then they’d session through it together, and if it was deemed suitable they’d record it properly with Plo Koon To save money they wanted to hash through as much possible first - “no point paying for a producer if Quinlan’s too busy ‘tuning his bass’ all day in the bathroom,” Qui-Gon had said - and today was the day for Padme’s groovy progression. Finally, “at all costs,” Quinlan had interjected, “we keep on playing. Even when Qui-Gon’s gone senile on us and forgets what time signature he’s in.” (He earned a elbow to the gut for that.)

Qui-Gon also noted they’d get paid weekly at a flat rate - Obi-Wan had to elbow Anakin before he started salivating at the thought of having money for once, which only Padme was well-positioned enough to pick up on. With the agenda, finances, and other matters out of the way, Obi-Wan was most eager to get started. 

“After all, he’s very proud of his tambourine skills.” Anakin said. 

Padme started out with the grooving progression, playing it over and over again. It didn’t take long for Quinlan to add in his baseline again, with a few tweaks here and there - a pickup, a slide, a riff. 

“Drums on the last bar,” Padme called to Qui-Gon, and he followed. It was a simple rhythm, but added to the mix completely changed things. 

“My turn,” Anakin said, riffing around on his guitar.  _ Show off, _ Obi-Wan thought, blushing proudly. Adding a half-hearted tambourine line, Obi-Wan let the sound swim around him. It had come together so quickly, so unexpectedly, but so perfectly. Is this what it was like to be in a band? At the same time though, there was so much talent in the room. Kriff, he wasn’t even meant to be here today. Anakin was, but he... what did he even have to offer? The tambourine? Sure, he could play piano, but with a pianist already there that rendered that skill almost useless. Of course, he could sing, but so could anyone here surely. Though there was one thing he could do - with his music theory, some things came naturally to him. 

He just hoped he would be here long enough to be able to show them. 

“Whoa,” Padme laughed, clapping her hands together. “That sounded insane.”

“All you,” Quinlan gestured to her. “So, where’s the rest of the song?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow -  _ just the intro, was it not? _

“I mean...” Padme trailed off. 

Quinlan shook his head and laughed. “So humble it’s embarrassing. I know you’ve got the whole thing written already.”

“But it’s not perfect, and-”   
  


Quinlan walked over to the piano and tipped her chin up, meeting her eyes. Completely unspoken, Padme tried to look away but Quinlan held her gaze. Obi-Wan couldn’t entirely decipher what was going on, but the connection those two had was off the charts. Padme seemed to nod as though she understood whatever Quinlan was trying to say, before returning to the seat and starting to play.

The progression stayed through the verse, with a slight variation in the second line, before rocketing to a brand new chord in the chorus. It was deceptively simple, and spun with a tale of indulging in the magic of first love, captured the easy pleasures of falling for someone new. Padme’s voice was unlike anything he’d heard before - it was full of smoky texture, with a clear sense of bluesy styling that made for delightfully easy listening. Obi-Wan nodded his head, impressed. She certainly had a knack for a good hook. 

“I’m thinking we add a guitar solo in at the very end maybe, and adding as much vocals as we can to the verse. Drums throughout but only starting in that last bar, you know?” Padme was talking at a million miles an hour; it was hard to think a minute ago she acted as if she’d just improvised some chords with nothing else behind it, let alone a fully realised song. “Anakin, maybe keep the guitar spare throughout - maybe a solo after the second chorus, and Quin, as much bass as you can muster, I think the warmth will really add to this one.”

“Any notes for me, my lady?” Obi-Wan bowed theatrically. “I’ll see what I can do with the vocals.”   
  


Padme nodded in agreement. “Wait, Obi-Wan, can I see your outfit? I can’t believe I didn’t even...”

Stepping out from beside Qui-Gon, he did a little twirl - today, he was in flares and a simple white wrap top, with fluted sleeves and a long scarf sweeping down to his belt. It was nice to have his outfit appreciated on the regular - of course, Anakin was always there to gush about how beautiful he looked, but someone with an avid interest in fabric and style was a different story. Padme’s eyes lit up as she nodded in approval, and was returned with a wink and whisper of his trademark, “Cheers, darling.” 

Anakin was still staring at him when Qui-Gon tossed his hair back indignantly, not unlike a horse, which was their cue to resume. 

“As you were, Padme,” came a call from over the drum kit. Beginning again, she played the grooving piano intro, with Quinlan adding bass and Anakin doodling a guitar riff over the top. Qui-Gon kicked in with the drums, leaving Padme to take the lead in the verse. 

“ _ Have mercy baby, on a poor girl like me...”  _ Padme sang, her fingers delicately gliding yet driving the keys. She was a wonder to watch with the ease she navigated the piano, improvising arpeggios and jazzy grace notes wherever she could. Every so often she’d flick back her hair, almost as if she was leaning into a mic and commanding an audience of thousands. 

Obi-Wan watched as Anakin followed her along in awe, eager to add whatever he could. Anakin had never looked like this when they played together - for the first time in his career, it seemed that his Skywalker had found himself a real challenge. Keeping up with a band, improvising to a song he’d never heard before in his life... well, it was certainly different to accompanying his and Obi-Wan’s voices flying high in a living room. 

He couldn’t help but feel the slightest of twinges; already Anakin had fit in so well musically with the band, and all he could do was half-heartedly smack a tambourine against his palm...

_ Oh, come off it, Kenobi _ , he thought to himself. Why the insecurity now? 

“ _ I’m-gonna-stall-for-a-bar-or-two _ ,” Padme sang to the tune of the intro. “Obi-Wan, can you sing with me?  _ Come-over-here _ ...”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and quickly came to the piano, giving Anakin a quick nudge and Padme a completely easy smile, not daring to betray his nerves.

“Chorus in five-six-seven-”

He’d only heard it the once, twice in Padme’s quick version before, but it had been enough;  _ a third above should work nicely, or take an alto line? _

Padme was looking at him expectantly, Anakin was filled with pride, Quinlan looked curious, and-

_ Here goes.  _

“‘ _ Cause when the loving starts and the lights go down,”  _ Obi-Wan sang hesitantly, jumping from the melody up to the harmony, watching Padme’s eyes go wide at his falsetto.

“ _ And there’s not another living soul around,”  _ came the next line, where he added a little run down on the last note.

Padme turned to him with a huge smile on her face.  _ “You woo me until the sun comes up, _ ” she sang to him, sliding up on the  _ “woo” _ dramatically as she pounded the keys, before they turned to each other at last, belting out, “ _ and you say that you love me” _ . 

The verse kicked back in and the chorus returned again, with Obi-Wan fully indulging in his glorious sound. Runs, harmonies, and improvisations flew threw the song, with Padme throwing glissandos and double octaves out like there was no tomorrow. The two almost danced together in a cat-and-mouse game of music, tempting each other to throw even further caution to the wind and let loose. 

_ So this is how it feels _ . 

As Anakin plundered through a gentle guitar solo, Obi-Wan whipped his scarf off and looped it around himself, as one would a feather boa. He draped himself dramatically against Anakin, pressing a kiss to his cheek and winking at Quinlan (he returned one just as easily). 

Strutting back over to the piano for the final vocals in the outro, he grabbed a mic stand and wrapped his scarf around it. The tambourine returned, this time wrapped in a floaty scarf, as the whole band belted out. 

_ “Fallin’, fallin’, fallin’...” _

Obi-Wan looked around the room, filled with so much talent. He was nervous, absolutely, but with The Force it all just felt so easy. With Skynobi he never really had a chance to negotiate a studio or stage, left fairly stationary by Anakin’s side. But having the space to move and breathe and live and  _ fly...  _

Well, this was exactly what he needed. 

He belonged here. 

_ “Fallin’, fallin’, fallin’...” _

As the song came into a close, Obi-Wan stepped back into himself and crossed his arms. The spell was over for now; no matter how beautifully Padme was smiling, or how Qui-Gon had even nodded his head in approval, that was that. 

The doubt came flooding back. 

~

“You want a toastie?” Obi-Wan asked, watching Anakin bent over his guitar on the living room floor, picking away, hair falling into his eyes. He shook his head. 

“More for me,” exhaled Obi-Wan, slamming the press down and stretching his hands out over the dark wood counter. Fingers tapped absent-mindedly, before falling into a syncopated drum. 

_ I don’t hate that, actually.  _

He glided over to the living room and picked up the keyboard, before putting it back on the kitchen bench and plugging it in next to the sandwich press. Cheese was oozing out of the side but no matter; A minor was a-calling. 

His fingers settled comfortably into the chord shape and he played it a few times, before gliding down to an F major. The transition worked, that was clear, but there wasn’t much else to go from.

“Your toastie’s burning,” Anakin called from his guitar, not even bothering to look up.

And so it was; Obi-Wan shovelled the charred remains off the press and dumped them on a plate with an eye roll, before the plate cracked against the bench. 

He swore angrily and slumped on over to the couch, lying on Anakin’s arm. “What are you playing, anyway?”

Anakin picked through a folksy tune, with layered and complex counter melodies. How could someone with no knowledge of theory improvise something like that? 

“Never Going Back Again, I think,” he murmured, playing it again and again. 

“I like it,” sighed Obi-Wan, curling closer into his arm. “Man, how amazing was today? For a minute I felt like I actually belonged... not that it lasted, but-”

“Really? Kinda clicked for me from the start,” Anakin replied, focusing on his fingers. 

“Naturally so,” Obi-Wan said hesitantly. No need for distance on a Monday night. “They did actually want you. Proving myself is gonna take a while, I think.”

“Well, I think you did great,” Anakin mumbled halfheartedly, before turning his attention back on the guitar. 

“That does sound great though, darling.”

“So did yours. Is that what you’re gonna do with that witchy poem you wrote the other night? Rianna or something?”

“Firstly  _ no _ , it was Rhiannon, not Rhianna or whatever inferior name you just mumbled, and no, it was just something I-” Obi-Wan considered him for a moment. “Actually, I might try that tomorrow.”

“And not now? While the idea’s still fresh? I’m gonna be up for a bit I think.”

“I’m quite tired actually, but I’d love some company in the bedroom.” Obi-Wan looked directly at Anakin now, quirking his lips and cocking an eyebrow. “Wanna take a bath?”

Anakin picked at his guitar again and shook his head, tousled curls bouncing. “Kinda on a roll with this one, but you head on off. I’ll join you later.”

Many hours later when Obi-Wan was still awake, feigning sleep (and mildly hungry), when Anakin finally came to bed, for the first time in many months he didn’t feel the warmth of his arms wrapped around him. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's ok anakin's just tired I swear
> 
> ...
> 
> Cantina Choice is Say You Love Me (1975), certified bangerrr
> 
> FFF - nothing of note, though there is a nice Pink Floyd easter egg in there (if you pick it i'll give you a piece of my homemade honeycomb)
> 
> also cheers for the kudos/hits/bookmarks! pls keep those comments coming toooo i love the interactions omg but this is my first ever fic so any feedback is incredibly appreciated :))
> 
> starting uni next week too so update frequency will change, maybe for the better, the train is quite nice for fic writing gotta say so we shall see


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